The Deceptive Detective's Many Masks
by Redderhead
Summary: Masquerade Night Club - Oneshot. Bit silly. Rated M...mainly because I'm unsure. Usual order of Johnlock for your reading pleasure!


_This one is rather pointless but I wrote it whilst on a train so…there was limit to imagination!_

_Please forgive my obviousness!_

_As usual, I own absolutely diddly squatt._

The Deceptive Detective's Many Masks

"You want to help, right?" The Consulting Detective asked his friend and colleague, whilst he studied his face in the dim light of the city morgue.

"Yes, of course" John replied, straightening his back and balling his fists before releasing them in fast succession.

"Good, find this Masquerade night club: _The Hive_. We may make an excursion tonight" Sherlock said before glancing down at the two gurney's currently supporting the weight of two dead women and turning on a heel. "Text me the details" he called before he disappeared through the double doors.

John turned to Lestrade and raised his eyebrows. "So, what's the address?" he sighed, taking to his coat pocket to retrieve his note book.

00100

At 8pm; John returned to the flat to prepare for their evening out. Seeing that 221B was empty, the soldier ascended the stairs to his bedroom. Exchanging his comfortable woollen jumper and chequered shirt for a smart black well-fitting shirt, he also changed his shoes from brown to black and his jeans from light to dark blue. Measuring himself up in his full length mirror he decided he was dressed appropriately for the undercover work they may or may not be partaking in.

Just as John donned his usual black military like jacket, he heard the street door close below.

"Sherlock? Did you get my text?" John called through his open bedroom door.

When there was no answer, John frowned slightly and trotted down his steps to the landing. He stopped mid way at the sight that greeted his eyes: Sherlock lay in a crumpled heap on the threshold of their living room, his head was bowed and his arms and legs were sprawled across the hard wood floor.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed before pouncing down the last four steps to land beside his friend.

"Sherlock, can you hear me?" John called desperately as he attempted to right the Detective, propping him up against the doorframe. When there was no immediate response; John cupped the younger man's face and lifted it slowly. The black eye was angry looking and the cut across his cheek was severe. John sighed heavily as he lifted eyelids; Sherlock chose this moment to cough into life.

"John, _do_ stop that" he said impatiently.

"Sherlock, what happened?" John asked gently, resting back on his heels between the taller man's sprawled legs.

"Oh, nothing, just a touch of trouble" Sherlock said dismissively, attempting to get to his feet and falling immediately. John lurched forward and caught his friend in his arms.

"Come on, off to bed" the ever present Doctor said with effort as he half carried the lighter man towards his room; ignoring the fast talked protests emanating from him.

Once Sherlock was lying down, John removed his shoes and coat, finally freeing him of his tight suit blazer before wrapping the duvet tightly over him.

"John, I have bruises, I am not _ill_". Sherlock said dully.

"But you have not slept in over four days, and you _are_ tired – look, you are even making mistakes! You never get beaten in a fight, Sherlock. You need sleep." John said as he fetched the medi-kit from the conjoined bathroom.

John carried out his Doctorial duties to the latter, gently dabbing the abrasions on Sherlock's face with antiseptic and lightly rubbing arnica into the bruises surrounding his left eye.

Once he had packed away his kit, he smiled warmly down at the Consulting Detective.

"Now, sleep" he ordered, raising himself from his seated position on the mattress.

"John" Sherlock said desperately as he fought sleep. "Go to the club tonight. See if you can find our culprit, you might save a victim. Go in my top drawer, there's a mask for you to wear." Sherlock explained sleepily.

John smiled fondly down at the tired man. "A mask?" He asked gently.

"It is a masquerade night club, John. You need a mask in order to enter." Sherlock said in his tone of 'obvious'.

John made his way to the chest of drawers in question and silently slid the top drawer open. Inside was a beautiful gold masquerade ball mask, the embroidery was exquisite and he was briefly taken off guard at the thought of Sherlock's eyes through the empty slots.

"Sherlock, it's beautiful" John started, lifting out the mask carefully; at the responding silence he turned to see Sherlock sleeping soundly. The Doctor smiled and exited the room quietly.

Hovering outside the entrance to The Hive, John watched as several people donned their decorative masks and paid their entrance fee. Feeling more confident, he did the same, hoping to fit in with the crowd; he pulled the elastic of the mask around his head and placed it gently on his nose. With a slight jolt of panic, the ex-soldier realised that the eye slots had minimised his peripheral vision. Once inside, however, it hardly mattered.

The music was loud and the lights were bright, the masked crowd were fascinatingly dressed in outfits of all imaginations. John was slightly taken aback with the passionate atmosphere. The lights were a dominating red and pink as they lit up the floor, walls and comfortable seating areas.

John spotted the bar and made a bee line for it. Ordering a gin and tonic, he looked around interestedly as masked men and women danced and part-took in very public displays of affection.

After four G&T's the medical man remained leaning against the bar, scanning the crowd from under his mask. A very smartly dressed man in purple and black approached the bar, his mask was black and silver and covered his entire face; making it difficult to pinpoint any features at all, to add to this; he wore a black trilby hat, hiding any sign of hair. His eyes were brown and his stature wasn't dissimilar to that of John's absent flatmate.

The man appeared to notice John's attentions and turned to him.

"Martin" he said in a light voice as he held out his hand.

"John" the Doctor replied with a closed mouth smile as he shook the hand that was offered to him.

"Strange place isn't it?" Martin asked, ordering a lime and soda from the bar.

"Very." John agreed, smiling once more.

"Are you meeting someone here?" The stranger asked.

"No, no, just here to see what it's all about really" John answered more or less truthfully.

"Ah, I see. Well, allow me to fill you in" Martin said; soft drink now in hand he turned to lean his back against the bar. "Your 8'o'clock, that's the girls that are single and in to men." Martin said, studying John's face. "Your 11'o'clock is the _men_ that are single and are in to men." Martin now leaned towards John from a sideways angle. "At 1'o'clock that's the single men that are in to women and at 4'o'clock is – altogether now – the females that are in to females".

John laughed "I had no idea and I have been here for over 4 drinks! Thank you for explaining"

"So, where do you belong, John?" Martin asked, fitting the straw through his mask expertly in order to take a drink.

John smiled once more, looking around at each group in turn. Finally, he turned towards the stranger "At the bar?" He said tentatively.

"Oh come now, don't tell me that you are a shrinking violet?" Martin whispered accusatively.

"No, no" John stammered, taken off guard by this man's attentiveness. "I'm just not a great par-taker in things like this". He explained quietly.

"Well, we could go somewhere quieter if you like?" Martin said equally as quiet.

"Well, well, I'm really – I shouldn't – I should get home" John stammered, the alcohol in his system not quite enough to smooth talk him out of this situation.

"Oh well, if you're sure." Martin said sadly. He threw a five pound note on the bar and headed away to the furthest left corner.

John gulped anxiously and finished his drink.

Walking back outside, John took a deep breath of fresh air and removed his mask. It took a moment of looking at the night's sky for John to realise that the man who stalked these women was pushy, from his description he had approached the women carefully, not removing his mask at all for identification.

John kicked the wall lightly, knowing he should investigate further or another body may be found by morning. John replaced his mask and re-entered the club.

"Back again so soon" Martin said in apparent surprise as John approached him carefully. "Thought your boyfriend needed you at home?" he said, turning away from the dark haired gentlemen he was talking to.

"Boyfriend? I don't have a boyfriend" John said, clearly taken aback.

"Ah, good. Shall we?" the taller man asked holding his arm out for John to take. John reluctantly took it and the pair headed for a back room.

Once inside, Martin sat down on the red plush couch provided.

"So, tell me, John" he started, placing his drink down on the small table. "Why are you here?"

John almost stumbled as he made for the end of the couch, putting a safe distance between them.

"I am…a policeman" John said, thinking quickly. "I am investigating some suspicious deaths at this night club. Would _you_ know anything about it?"

"If I did, why would I tell you?" Martin questioned, tilting his head to the side.

"So that you free yourself of suspicion" John said, slightly stealing the 'obvious' tone from his absent flatmate.

"Tell me, who is the man in your life?" Martin asked interestedly, lacing his fingers together and looking down at them.

"M-man?" John stammered.

"Yes, you definitely have the air of a man that is taken, unavailable, and _Gay _if not Bi" Martin replied.

"I live with a man, but I am not _with _him" John explained, unsure how his conversation had been hijacked so easily.

"But you wish to be" Martin finished for him in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Sorry, but, could you remove your mask? It's hard to talk to someone I can't…see" John said.

"A man with no face could be any man" Martin said as though quoting a play. "Pretend that I am him, what would you say to me?"

"No, sorry, I need to get back to my work" John said, making a move to stand.

Martin's hand jolted out and grasped John's wrist firmly.

"I am a counsellor." Martin said gently, his brown eyes staring up at the shorter man.

John sat down once more with an uneasy flump.

"He is, asexual." John said with a heavy sigh. "I guess I just, don't want to open that door" he said loosely.

"Ah, so, you believe this man to be _inexperienced_ and so you do not wish to become a used object, an experiment if you will" Martin said thoughtfully.

John's jaw hung open in surprise; "Yes, yes that is exactly how I feel".

"Addictive type is he?" Martin supplied.

John nodded vaguely, feeling guilty for telling this stranger so much.

"My advice?" the taller man continued without pause. "Either, take the chance and tell him, a door opened can be closed after all, or the other option is find a doppelganger, put your fantasies into action and vent upon _him_" Martin said, a hint of a smile in his tone.

John's eyes snapped up and over the man at his side.

"Would I be right in thinking I am a close double?" John could hear the smirk now.

"If you remove you're mask, then yes." John whispered.

Martin raised his hands to his face and removed his hat and mask to reveal a head of blonde hair and a face chiselled from marble. John's sharp intake of breath was enough to display how much of a doppelganger Martin really was. He was, therefore, not the murderer as he had shown himself so easily.

It did not take long before John had moved close to Martin and had run a hand across his jaw. Martin moved forward with the intention of kissing the Doctor and removing his mask, however, John raised his hand and placed his fingers between their lips.

"No kissing and the mask stays on" he husked as he examined the dark brown eyes in the dimly lit room.

A vague expression of confusion covered Martin's face for less than a second, but that was all it took for John to leap apart from the taller man.

"I have to go." He mumbled as he exited the small booth and headed through the bar to the exit promptly. He ran to the main road and hailed down a taxi in the dark.

The Doctor let out a sigh as he sat in the back of the vehicle that was headed for Baker Street.

Upon arrival at the top of the staircase, John placed a hand on Sherlock's door but paused before pushing it open. He couldn't face him, not after what he had been doing; slowly he let his hand slide silently down the door before heading up to his own room alone.

00100

Morning arrived with a painful groan as John turned over in his bed, holding his head with two hands as he fought with his headache.

"How did you get on?" Sherlock asked from somewhere beside him.

John jumped and sat up with wide eyes – staring at Sherlock who was occupying the chair beside his desk, his black eye looking much like it did the previous day and all he wore was a white sheet.

"Guilty conscience, John?" Sherlock smirked.

"N-no, you just gave me a fright" John tried, lying back down with his eyes closed against the hangover.

"Tut tut Doctor, drinking on the job is never a good idea" Sherlock said as he made to stand and winced in pain. "Anyway, what did you find out?" he pushed as he sat down on the edge of John's bed.

"Nothing" John said weakly. "The place is a magnet for weird people".

"Weird, you say?" Sherlock mused, his fingers tracing his mouth. "Well, it was a long shot anyway. Come on, get up, we are going to the Yard, I found the perpetrator this morning on CCTV. We need to show Lestrade."

John groaned in response but struggled to his feet regardless.

00100

By evening John returned home alone after being snapped at by an angry Sherlock Holmes for being hung over and not particularly interested in chasing down a ming vase thief.

John sat on the edge of his bed, loosening his shirt buttons. He caught sight of the golden mask on his bedside table and stopped, staring at it thoughtfully.

Without much delay, the man began to change his clothing, grabbing the mask before trotting down the staircases and out into the street.

00100

Tonight the club was different; emptier than the previous night. To John's surprise the only man in the far left corner was Martin.

"Well, look who appeared after all" Martin drawled from his laid back position on a large red corner couch.

"Its, er, quiet tonight" John mused awkwardly as he took to the bench beside the stranger.

"Well, it _is_ Sunday" Martin said, eyeing up the bar man.

"Do you come here every night?" John asked, tilting his head in order to look at the man beside him.

Martin didn't reply, instead he got to his feet and walked briskly towards the bar, a moment later he returned with two glasses of red liquid.

"Cherry Delight?" he asked as he sat down once more, if not a little closer to John than before.

"Thanks" John said taking the glass.

"So, why are you here tonight of all nights? Man of your desire not in?" Martin asked, taking a sip of his drink through his straw.

John was unable to read any facial expression and arrived at the conclusion that Martin was interested after all.

"No, he – well, he fell out with me to be honest." John shrugged, sniffing his drink dubiously.

"Fell out with you? Good lord you sound as though you are 12 years old, John" Martin said with a light laugh.

"It's true; there was this one time…" John said, sipping his drink and turning towards Martin to divulge the whole story.

00100

After an hour or so, John was enjoying himself, it felt good to have a vent and a laugh with someone other than Scotland Yard staff or his excruciating flatmate.

He was enjoying himself too much to notice, however, that he had drank almost fourteen 'Cherry Delights'.

"So, John, are you back here for any particular reason?" Martin asked, seemingly as sharp as a sober man.

"No, no, not really, well, I guess I was thinking about you" John said off-handedly.

Martin nodded; "In what way?" he asked.

"Well, I wondered if I could possibly take you up on your offer of –well, the doppelganger idea" John said, feeling a blush igniting his cheeks.

Whether it was the manner in which Martin spoke, or the intensity of his stares, John felt that this was as close to Sherlock Holmes as he was going to get, and he had realised that morning just how much he desired the touch of the Consulting Detective.

"Lets get a hotel" Martin offered, leaving cash on the table as he stood and waited for John to do the same.

00100

Early next morning, John tip-toed up the staircase, he noticed that the living room was surprisingly empty. Dropping his shoes by his armchair, John slowly and carefully approached Sherlock's open bedroom door. Seeing no one in he shrugged and went into the bathroom, preparing himself for a long hot shower.

Whilst brushing his teeth, he heard the door at the bottom of the stairs close and the unmistakable footsteps of his flatmate pound the steps rhythmically.

"Where have you been?" Sherlock demanded, his breath slightly absent as he banged open the bathroom door. John turned to look at him in stunned silence as his toothbrush remained in place and a blob of toothpaste dripped onto his dressing gown.

"Out" John answered nonchalantly after spitting toothpaste in the sink, by the time he had turned again, Sherlock was gone.

00100

And so it was for the following month that Sherlock would work, and John would disappear in the evenings to meet up with Martin on an almost daily basis, his mask firmly in place for the duration of their hotel visit.

One day, John returned to 221B and showered, by which time, Sherlock had assumedly gotten up and left, John entered the younger man's empty room and sat upon his bed. Lying down, he inhaled the cold pillow deeply, closing his eyes, he smelt Sherlock. It made his stomach churn as he felt his eyes begin to water. Martin was not _helping _but _hindering _his chances with Sherlock, if there were any. He knew he had to finish it but it was proving difficult.

Overall, John _missed _his friend Sherlock. Missed spending his evenings in front of the TV, missed his evenings of writing about Sherlock and his cases.

Without being conscious of it, John fell asleep holding Sherlock's pillow protectively.

A little while later, John became aware of his surroundings slowly. He opened his eyes to see…no, that couldn't be right. John sat bolt upright and stared down at the man beside him on Sherlock's bed.

"Martin, Martin!" John frantically whispered, nudging the masked man in terror. "You can't be _here,_ this is where you are not allowed to be!"

"Shut up, John. I'm trying to sleep." Martin mumbled…but hang on, that wasn't Martin's voice.

John now noticed, in the daylight that flooded the room, the amount of make-up Martin wore. Was that normal? John never got too close to the doppelganger's face, afraid that the fantasy would break when reality hit home that Martin wasn't Sherlock. They had, for that reason, not kissed.

Out of curiosity, John ran a hand through the short crop of neatly gelled blonde hair atop Martin's head, he squeaked in surprise as the hair came away from Martin's head, leaving behind a mass of dark brown curls.

John jumped from the bed in horror as his hands flew to his mouth. Sherlock was Martin, Martin, Martin was Sherlock. There was no Martin. All the evidence hit John square in the chest at once; the aftershave, the build, the lips, the phrases, the intense stares…it _was_ Sherlock. How had it taken him _this _long to realise?

Sherlock mumbled and reached a hand out for John, realising the space was empty he opened his eyes groggily. They were brown.

John's own eyes widened in absolute panic as he stared at the man on the bed.

"Sherlock" John whimpered, his hands still covering his mouth as he cowered in the corner of the bedroom.

Sherlock now sat up, the blonde wig falling from his head as he did so.

"Ah" he said, glancing up at John. "John, it…it is exactly what you think" Sherlock mumbled as he got to his feet gingerly, removed his black mask and approached his mirror. He bent over to remove the coloured contacts from his eyes, leaving behind the unmistakable ice blue orbs.

After disposing the make-up wipe, the Consulting Detective approached the shorter, quivering man slowly.

"I'm sorry, John, I just, I couldn't help it" He said, his expression one of slight panic and helplessness.

John remained speechless, helplessly reeling through images in his head of Martin and him. He couldn't believe that he had really _had_ Sherlock…and in so many ways.

"It was nothing" John said weakly, his eyes becoming wet.

"Now, John, I didn't say that" Sherlock started only to be shocked into silence by John's sudden outburst of anger.

"The beating, that was fake! The night I met Martin, y-you were fine!" John allowed an angry tear to streak from his eye "The bodies – those two women, they were decoy's!" John burst.

"Their case was unrelated to The Hive, yes" Sherlock affirmed.

"I –it doesn't make _any _sense! I-I- oh god" John exclaimed before he ran from the room towards the bathroom where he proceeded to be violently sick.

Sherlock followed silently and knelt behind John as the shorter man clung onto the toilet for dear life, not really sure how to proceed, Sherlock waited for the sickness to subside before wrapping his arms around John's midriff and pulling him to rest against his chest.

John slowly began to calm down, listening to Sherlock's steady heartbeat.

Sherlock took a risk and placed a gentle kiss on the top of John's head, something he had been itching to do for so long. John smiled weakly.

"I love you, Sherlock" The Doctor said weakly, looking blankly at the bathroom wall.

Sherlock smiled at the irony of the whole situation. "I would have thought you loved Martin" he replied gently.

"No, it's always been you" John said truthfully. "I never kissed Martin for the simple reason that he wasn't….well, I thought he wasn't you."

Sherlock felt his stomach lurch. "In that case, John Watson, I love you too, please forgive me. It was the only way that I could start a fresh with you; convince you that I could be less heartless than I am."

John squirmed a little in order to lay his over-heated head against Sherlock's strong jaw.

"How did I not know it was you?" John asked in dismay.

"I can be very convincing, John" Sherlock mused. "When I was younger many people assumed I was schizophrenic".

John laughed lightly before nuzzling into Sherlock's neck.

"Can we forgo hotel rooms now?" John asked quietly, a small smile playing about his lips.

"Only if you kiss me" Sherlock said warmly, nudging John's nose with his own.

"Let me brush my teeth first" John replied with a quick glance down at Sherlock's plump lips.

Reluctantly, Sherlock released his Doctor and helped him to his feet.

Both brushed their teeth in silence, stealing glances at each other like teenagers in maths class.

Simultaneously, they spat into the sink and banged heads in doing so. Laughing nervously at themselves, they headed back through to Sherlock's room. John knelt on the bed as he faced the consulting detective. Sherlock joined him slowly, sitting back on his heels as he reached out to frame John's face with his hands.

John closed his eyes briefly at the sensation, before opening them and leaning toward the taller man. He flickered his gaze from the familiar ice blue eyes to the memorable bow shaped mouth that faced him, before pressing his lips to them.

It didn't take long to realise that this was Sherlock's first kiss. However, once John had delicately led the way, the master of deduction picked up the skill rather quickly. Before long, their kiss was heated, passionate, gentle and harsh all at once. Breaking apart for air, John took in the sight of a speechless Sherlock Holmes; his lips were a swollen pink in contrast to his usual dull complexion and his eyes were wide, pupils dilated, leaving only a tiny rim of colour encompassing them.

"Don't ever pretend with me, Sherlock" John whispered, his eyelashes tickling Sherlock's skin as he rested his nose against the taller man's cheek.

"Never" Sherlock promised in a nervous whisper.

John smiled as he leaned towards the raven haired man once more, this time taking hold of his deceptively strong biceps as he resumed their kiss, he gently pushed them back until he was hovering over a lying down Consulting Detective.

"John" Sherlock gasped as he broke apart from the Doctor.

John lifted himself slightly to look down at Sherlock

"Do you mind, if we don't continue this; it's just, I'm a little…sore." Sherlock said timidly.

John's eyes blew wide as he had a flashback to the previous night of fast and almost unprepared activity.

"Oh, God, Sherlock – I – I'm so sorry" John said as he immediately sat back on his heels.

The taller man sat up with a wince and grasped hold of John's shoulder.

"It was _my _fault. I was worse than usual with you yesterday – I could feel you taking out your frustrations on me for it last night" He smiled.

"Do you, do you want me to look-?" John asked tentatively.

Sherlock shook his head; "It'll be ok after a hot bath" he grinned "care to join me?" he added with raised eyebrows.

John's concern disappeared immediately as this suggestion made him gulp back in shock, his voice evading him as he was only able to nod in reply.

The End


End file.
